Harvest Moon Read Free Page B

555-7604. Please call me, I’ve had quite a shock. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to assume your wife was telling me the truth—that you sent her to speak to me, to inform me that we can no longer have a friendship of any kind—personal or professional.” Then she sent a text to his phone with the same message. Then she attempted to send him an email with the very same message, but she had to create a new account first. Losing the phone on which she carried all her information and email accounts was incredibly complicated.
    But to her complete frustration, she didn’t hear from Luca all day.
    After seeing both the internist and cardiologist, she placed a call to one of Luca’s personal assistants, Shannon. “Hi, Shannon, it’s Kelly Matlock, sous chef at La Touche. I seem to have misplaced my cell phone and have a new number and new email address. I’m trying to reach Luca. I have a business matter to discuss. Will you please pass on my new number, email, and ask him to call or something?”
    “Absolutely, Ms. Matlock! I’d be happy to. I should see him in an hour or so.”
    But the new cell phone didn’t ring.
    Kelly called Jillian in Virgin River, but all she said was that she’d lost her phone and had a new number. She’d tell all when the doctors had had their say and the crisis had passed, but she didn’t want to worry her sister. Besides, Jillian had just gone through her own difficult time and was barely reunited with her man. Instead, Kelly holed up at home, waiting for that new cell phone to ring. She betrayed her pride by making a few more attempts on Luca’s cell, but to her credit she was as professional as ever with the messages she left.
    The second day brought the results of tests, which, thankfully, were far from catastrophic. She was given a shot with an iron booster. Prescriptions were called in to the drug store for blood pressure and low-dosage antianxiety medications along with the name of a good over-the-counter vitamin with extra iron. Kelly was going to be just fine; all doctors recommended a better diet—better than what a five-star chef could provide?—more rest, less pressure, reduced stress.
    She laughed to herself. Yeah, right.
    She had kept her flat darkened so she’d rest, but sleep eluded her. She realized she hated the apartment. It was a small two-room efficiency that cost a fortune because it was in the city, but she had only leased this particular one because it was so close to the restaurant and she rarely had to use her car.
    Loved the city, hated her place. But hell, she didn’t spend much time there anyway. It seemed her life had revolved around the restaurant for three years. She had friends, good friends, but rarely saw them; hardly ever made time to play or relax with them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to a movie. Work, work, work—and much of it was just to keep her position safe, not out of sheer joy. Even her love life seemed to begin and end at La Touche.
    She returned after two whole days off. A couple of line cooks had beaten her to the kitchen and were slicing and dicing; they didn’t ask her how she was feeling. She got about the business of checking her inventory and the contents of the freezer while slowly the kitchen began to fill up with employees. She heard arguing and recognized the voices of Phillip and one of the cooks and resisted the urge to check it out; she wished Phillip would mind the front of the house and stay out of her territory, but he was always in everyone’s business. Before long Durant began verbally abusing a couple of cooks, then telling Phillip he was a useless idiot who should stay out of his kitchen.
    Soon the kitchen was fully staffed; the noise escalated and the temperature rose along with the tension. Everyone had their territory, either vegetables or pasta or meat or fish or pastry. Durant saw something he didn’t like and poured the contents of a saute pan into the sink, calling the cook a